{"id":51733,"date":"2020-04-18T07:00:31","date_gmt":"2020-04-18T12:00:31","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/milesfortis.com\/?p=51733"},"modified":"2020-04-18T07:40:03","modified_gmt":"2020-04-18T12:40:03","slug":"51733","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/milesfortis.com\/?p=51733","title":{"rendered":""},"content":{"rendered":"
\n
Longfellow–<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n

Listen, my children, and you shall hear<\/span>
\nOf the midnight ride of Paul Revere,<\/span>
\nOn the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five:<\/span>
\nHardly a man is now alive<\/span>
\nWho remembers that famous day and year.<\/span><\/p>\n

He said to his friend, \u201cIf the British march<\/span>
\nBy land or sea from the town to-night,<\/span>
\nHang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch<\/span>
\nOf the North-Church-tower, as a signal-light,\u2014<\/span>
\nOne if by land, and two if by sea;<\/span>
\nAnd I on the opposite shore will be,<\/span>
\nReady to ride and spread the alarm<\/span>
\nThrough every Middlesex village and farm,<\/span>
\nFor the country-folk to be up and to arm.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Then he said \u201cGood night!\u201d and with muffled oar<\/span>
\nSilently rowed to the Charlestown shore,<\/span>
\nJust as the moon rose over the bay,<\/span>
\nWhere swinging wide at her moorings lay<\/span>
\nThe Somerset, British man-of-war:<\/span>
\nA phantom ship, with each mast and spar<\/span>
\nAcross the moon, like a prison-bar,<\/span>
\nAnd a huge black hulk, that was magnified<\/span>
\nBy its own reflection in the tide.<\/span><\/p>\n

Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street<\/span>
\nWanders and watches with eager ears,<\/span>
\nTill in the silence around him he hears<\/span>
\nThe muster of men at the barrack door,<\/span>
\nThe sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,<\/span>
\nAnd the measured tread of the grenadiers<\/span>
\nMarching down to their boats on the shore.<\/span><\/p>\n

Then he climbed to the tower of the church,<\/span>
\nUp the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,<\/span>
\nTo the belfry-chamber overhead,<\/span>
\nAnd startled the pigeons from their perch<\/span>
\nOn the sombre rafters, that round him made<\/span>
\nMasses and moving shapes of shade,\u2014<\/span>
\nBy the trembling ladder, steep and tall,<\/span>
\nTo the highest window in the wall,<\/span>
\nWhere he paused to listen and look down<\/span>
\nA moment on the roofs of the town,<\/span>
\nAnd the moonlight flowing over all.<\/span><\/p>\n

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,<\/span>
\nIn their night-encampment on the hill,<\/span>
\nWrapped in silence so deep and still<\/span>
\nThat he could hear, like a sentinel\u2019s tread,<\/span>
\nThe watchful night-wind, as it went<\/span>
\nCreeping along from tent to tent,<\/span>
\nAnd seeming to whisper, \u201cAll is well!\u201d<\/span>
\nA moment only he feels the spell<\/span>
\nOf the place and the hour, and the secret dread<\/span>
\nOf the lonely belfry and the dead;<\/span>
\nFor suddenly all his thoughts are bent<\/span>
\nOn a shadowy something far away,<\/span>
\nWhere the river widens to meet the bay,\u2014<\/span>
\nA line of black, that bends and floats<\/span>
\nOn the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.<\/span><\/p>\n

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,<\/span>
\nBooted and spurred, with a heavy stride,<\/span>
\nOn the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.<\/span>
\nNow he patted his horse\u2019s side,<\/span>
\nNow gazed on the landscape far and near,<\/span>
\nThen impetuous stamped the earth,<\/span>
\nAnd turned and tightened his saddle-girth;<\/span>
\nBut mostly he watched with eager search<\/span>
\nThe belfry-tower of the old North Church,<\/span>
\nAs it rose above the graves on the hill,<\/span>
\nLonely and spectral and sombre and still.<\/span>
\nAnd lo! as he looks, on the belfry\u2019s height,<\/span>
\nA glimmer, and then a gleam of light!<\/span>
\nHe springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,<\/span>
\nBut lingers and gazes, till full on his sight<\/span>
\nA second lamp in the belfry burns!<\/span><\/p>\n

A hurry of hoofs in a village-street,<\/span>
\nA shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,<\/span>
\nAnd beneath from the pebbles, in passing, a spark<\/span>
\nStruck out by a steed that flies fearless and fleet:<\/span>
\nThat was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,<\/span>
\nThe fate of a nation was riding that night;<\/span>
\nAnd the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,<\/span>
\nKindled the land into flame with its heat.<\/span><\/p>\n

He has left the village and mounted the steep,<\/span>
\nAnd beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,<\/span>
\nIs the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;<\/span>
\nAnd under the alders, that skirt its edge,<\/span>
\nNow soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,<\/span>
\nIs heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.<\/span><\/p>\n

It was twelve by the village clock<\/span>
\nWhen he crossed the bridge into Medford town.<\/span>
\nHe heard the crowing of the cock,<\/span>
\nAnd the barking of the farmer\u2019s dog,<\/span>
\nAnd felt the damp of the river-fog,<\/span>
\nThat rises when the sun goes down.<\/span><\/p>\n

It was one by the village clock,<\/span>
\nWhen he galloped into Lexington.<\/span>
\nHe saw the gilded weathercock<\/span>
\nSwim in the moonlight as he passed,<\/span>
\nAnd the meeting-house windows, blank and bare,<\/span>
\nGaze at him with a spectral glare,<\/span>
\nAs if they already stood aghast<\/span>
\nAt the bloody work they would look upon.<\/span><\/p>\n

It was two by the village clock,<\/span>
\nWhen be came to the bridge in Concord town.<\/span>
\nHe heard the bleating of the flock,<\/span>
\nAnd the twitter of birds among the trees,<\/span>
\nAnd felt the breath of the morning breeze<\/span>
\nBlowing over the meadows brown.<\/span>
\nAnd one was safe and asleep in his bed<\/span>
\nWho at the bridge would be first to fall,<\/span>
\nWho that day would be lying dead,<\/span>
\nPierced by a British musket-ball.<\/span><\/p>\n

You know the rest. In the books you have read,<\/span>
\nHow the British Regulars fired and fled,\u2014<\/span>
\nHow the farmers gave them ball for ball,<\/span>
\nFrom behind each fence and farmyard-wall,<\/span>
\nChasing the red-coats down the lane,<\/span>
\nThen crossing the fields to emerge again<\/span>
\nUnder the trees at the turn of the road,<\/span>
\nAnd only pausing to fire and load.<\/span><\/p>\n

So through the night rode Paul Revere;<\/span>
\nAnd so through the night went his cry of alarm<\/span>
\nTo every Middlesex village and farm,\u2014<\/span>
\nA cry of defiance, and not of fear,<\/span>
\nA voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,<\/span>
\nAnd a word that shall echo forevermore!<\/span>
\nFor, borne on the night-wind of the Past,<\/span>
\nThrough all our history, to the last,<\/span>
\nIn the hour of darkness and peril and need,<\/span>
\nThe people will waken and listen to hear<\/span>
\nThe hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,<\/span>
\nAnd the midnight message of Paul Revere.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Longfellow– Listen, my children, and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five: Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year. He said to his friend, \u201cIf the British march By land or sea from the town to-night, Hang a lantern … Continue reading “”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[35],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-51733","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-culture"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/milesfortis.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/51733","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/milesfortis.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/milesfortis.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/milesfortis.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/milesfortis.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=51733"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/milesfortis.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/51733\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":51734,"href":"https:\/\/milesfortis.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/51733\/revisions\/51734"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/milesfortis.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=51733"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/milesfortis.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=51733"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/milesfortis.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=51733"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}